


Fathers and Sons

by jenatwork



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenatwork/pseuds/jenatwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anime-canon. Yoshio and Yuzuru. Two very different fathers with two very different sons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In my first OHSHC story, I had what I thought was a throw-away line about Yoshio encouraging Kyouya to court Haruhi, a girl masquerading as a boy. I kept coming back to that idea, and wondering what it meant to both Yoshio and Kyouya. So this story sort of wrote itself backwards, as I wondered why else Yoshio might choose Haruhi as a potential match for his youngest son. It's centered around the anime timeline, although I might have taken a few liberties with minor things here and there.

If Ootori Yoshio felt any surprise at spotting Suoh standing in the reception area of the spa, then that surprise certainly did not reach his face. He was used to crossing paths with Yuzuru in restaurants and at charity galas, but as the Ootori group inched closer to bumping up against Suoh’s hotel empire with its latest move into health-spas, then he knew it wouldn’t be long before social meetings became business ones. It was rather brazen of Suoh to turn up himself to the opening of the Ootori Group’s newest venture - Yoshio himself would have sent a staff member to gather information - but then Suoh Yuzuru had never been one to watch from the sidelines.

“Suoh-san,” he announced, deciding that their conversation should be on his terms. “Welcome. It’s been a while.” He bowed graciously and Suoh returned the gesture, then held out a hand to shake his. When Yoshio acquiesced, Yuzuru’s other hand trapped it, the warm greeting so audaciously European and Yoshio held back a grimace at the uncomfortable warmth of his grip.

“Ootori-san! This is most impressive. How progressive for the Ootori Group to take on the holistic aspects of healing. I hope this place prospers.”

Suoh smiled, the lines around his eyes showing just how often he must do so, and Yoshio tried to decide if ‘progressive’ could be an insult. 

“I’m so glad I bumped into you today,” Suoh continued, and the enthusiasm in his voice could actually make one believe that their meeting truly was accidental, “for I have a small favour to ask of you. Your youngest son is in his final year of middle school, am I right?”

Yoshio allowed one eyebrow to arch inquisitively, encouraging clarification and most definitely not a show of surprise at the sudden change of subject. 

“My son, Tamaki, will be enrolling next month, in the same class. I would find it reassuring to know that there was a fellow student willing to show him around. Tamaki’s a bright boy, but a little impulsive, I must admit. I think it would do him good to have a responsible, hard-working role model.”

As Suoh’s smile changed to one of self-depracation, Yoshio pondered the word ‘impulsive’ and decided that the apple must not have fallen far from the tree. The last thing Kyouya needed was a distraction, especially an impulsive Suoh son - an impulsive son raised in Europe, no less, without a father around - but obviously Suoh had his reasons for asking such a favour. After all, there were plenty of other boys in Kyouya’s class, plenty of other fathers Suoh could have imposed on. But Suoh had chosen Ootori . So Ootori would give as good as he got.

“Of course, Suoh-san. Kyouya will no doubt enjoy the opportunity to welcome your son to Ouran.” 

“Splendid!” Suoh practically beamed. Yoshio returned a thin-lipped smile, before he noticed one of his staff discreetly signalling that his attention was required elsewhere.

“If you’ll excuse me, Suoh-san, I must speak with the Venue Manager for a moment. Be sure to introduce yourself at the desk - I’ll make sure you receive a full day’s use of the facilities, on whichever day suits you.” He bowed once more, waited for Suoh to reciprocate, then stepped away, shoes clicking smartly on the marble floor.

 

*****


	2. Chapter 2

The Suoh boy was becoming a regular fixture at the house. At first, Yoshio had been concerned that Kyouya had gone a little too far in befriending the boy, allowing his new social life to interfere with his studies, but since his son’s grades had so far shown no signs of slipping, he decided that Kyouya could be permitted this little indulgence. And if the Suoh boy did ultimately prove to be too much of a distraction, well, that too would be a valuable lesson for Kyouya. It was strange to hear raised voices in the house, or to find the two of them lingering in odd corners, but Tamaki was unfailingly polite whenever Yoshio walked into the room, and as soon as greetings and pleasantries had been dealt with, the two of them would usually disappear back to Kyouya’s room, or else the Suoh boy would announce that it was time for him to set off home.

At the start of the school’s winter break, the Suoh boy turned up with a small suitcase. When questioned, Kyouya explained that he and Tamaki were working on a project, and if it was okay with his father, he would like Tamaki to spend the weekend at the house. Pleasantly surprised to find that the boys planned to spend their first free weekend of the holiday on schoolwork, Yoshio gave his consent. Perhaps Kyouya was a good influence on the boy, he mused, encouraging him to focus on his studies. If only Kyouya could teach him the importance of quiet conversation, then he wouldn’t feel quite so irritated whenever Tamaki appeared at the Ootori home.

The following Monday, when Tamaki had been returned to his own house, Yoshio took the opportunity to talk with his son over breakfast, since Kyouya was not heading off to school that morning.

“How is your project turning out?” he asked his son in between sips of his morning coffee.

“Not bad so far,” Kyouya answered, his voice thick with sleep - he had never been at his best in the morning, Yoshio noted with equal parts concern and amusement . “Although we still have a lot of work to do over the next few weeks.

“Weeks?” He arched one eyebrow. “What class is this project for?”

Kyouya poured cream into his coffee cup, and Yoshio tried to remember when his youngest boy had become a coffee drinker. Not the healthiest habit for a fourteen-year-old, particularly coupled with his refusal to turn out his bedroom light before midnight.

“It’s not for class,” Kyouya replied. “Tamaki suggested that we form a club, once we move up to high school.”

“Interesting,” he remarked. The morning paper had been placed by his plate, and a headline caught his eye. He would have to give it his full attention in the car on the way to the office. “Is the Suoh boy an athlete?”

“Actually, it’s a working club.” Yoshio raised both eyebrows this time. “Potentially quite a profitable one too, if my latest analysis is anything to judge by.”

Yoshio drained his coffee cup. It was getting late, and the day was set to be a busy one.

“Well, it’s not how I would have expected you to spend your winter break, but it’s clearly got the two of you excited. Your mother said she barely saw you over the weekend.” He folded the newspaper and slipped it under one arm as he stood. “I hope it does well.” He left his son to his breakfast and headed out for the front door, where one of the staff waited patiently with his coat and briefcase. There was much work to be done, so it was gratifying to have found at least a little time to talk with Kyouya before he left.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

“Kyouya! Look at this!”

Those three words were becoming the bane of Kyouya’s existence. No matter where they were or what they were doing, Tamaki would find something so fascinating that he had to demand Kyouya’s attention, regardless of what Kyouya was doing or who was around to overhear.

On this occasion, the object of fascination was an Ouran High School blazer, still pristine in its garment bag. With only a couple of weeks to go before they finished middle school, Tamaki had invited him to the Suoh second estate for the weekend to make final plans for the Host Club, before they could get distracted by closing ceremonies and family vacations. They’d worked for maybe an hour before Tamaki got bored and decided to show off his new school supplies for the upcoming year.

“I’ve seen the high school uniform before,” Kyouya told him with a sigh.

“But not this one,” Tamaki insisted. “Because this one is mine! And pretty soon, I’m going to be wearing it, as a bona fide high school student!” He clutched the garment bag to his chest and twirled, like a little girl showing off a new party dress. 

Kyouya had been sitting at Tamaki’s desk, making notes and lists and trying to figure out what still had to be done in preparation for their first club meeting. Tamaki, on the other hand, had not stayed in one spot for more than a minute, the whole time he’d been in the room. Kyouya found it exhausting just to watch him. As he tried to focus on his notebook, Tamaki pulled loose one of the blazer’s sleeves, and spun the bag like an imaginary dance partner.

“While you two are up, could you turn on the light?” Kyouya grumbled. “It’s going to get dark outside soon and I won’t be able to see to write.”

At that, Tamaki gasped and threw the garment bag down on to the bed.

“Not yet!”

Before he could protest, Tamaki dashed to the desk and closed Kyouya’s notebook, before grabbing Kyouya’s wrist and dragging him over to the window.

“Hey! Tamaki, what do you think you’re doing?”

But Tamaki, for once, stayed silent. He was looking through the window, one hand resting on the plush red curtain. When Kyouya looked outside, he couldn’t see anything of interest that might have grabbed Tamaki’s attention.

“Do you know why I picked this room as mine, Kyouya?”

“Because it’s the master bedroom?” 

Tamaki snickered.

“There are at least two other bedrooms this size. I chose this one because of the view.”

“The grounds are quite impressive,” he lied. There was nothing special in the grounds; a lawn, flower beds, and sparse trees around the edge of the property.

“Not the grounds, Kyouya!” Tamaki nudged him.

“So what am I meant to be looking at?” He was about to turn away, but Tamaki stepped behind him, grabbed his elbows and spun him back to face the window. “The sunset!”

“What?”

“Look, Kyouya!” And Kyouya tried, but for some reason all he could focus on, right then, was Tamaki standing behind him, hands on Kyouya’s arms.

“I’ve seen sunsets before, Tamaki,” he pointed out, his voice quieter than he was aiming for. “How is this any different?”

“It has nothing to do with the ones that have come before, Kyouya,” Tamaki answered, just as softly, and the sudden quiet in the room was almost a shock. “I know you think I’m just some hopeless romantic - “

“Hopeless is right.”

Tamaki shook him to get his attention, and Kyouya realised that he’d never taken his hands from Kyouya’s arms.

“Is it really so strange to enjoy things just because they’re beautiful?” Standing as they were, Tamaki’s chin was practically resting on Kyouya’s shoulder. What was it with Tamaki and touching? Just a European thing? Kyouya couldn’t help but remember their first meeting, when Tamaki had taken Ayame’s hand in greeting, before offering his own hand for Kyouya to shake. He remembered Tamaki’s insistent hugs as he proclaimed Kyouya his best friend within hours. Was Tamaki so tactile with everyone? He could easily picture Tamaki shaking hands with classmates, but had he ever seen Tamaki hugging anyone else? Standing as close as he was to Kyouya right then?

Kyouya tried to focus on the sunset, tried to see it the way Tamaki must be seeing it. True enough, the colours were intense, the clouds lilac and grey against the reddening sky, but he had seen sunsets before. What he couldn’t call to mind was being so close to anyone as Tamaki was to him now, his chest brushing against Kyouya’s back each time he inhaled.

“Maybe…” he began, and had to stop to find his voice, “maybe it’s just not in my nature to see things that way.”

“So what do you enjoy?”

And the first word that came to mind, was ‘this’.

Kyouya closed his eyes and wondered when he’d allowed himself to become so ridiculous.

“What I’d really enjoy is to finish off our planning, and then have dinner. I’m famished.” He stepped away from the window to find the light switch.

That night, in the bedroom next to Tamaki’s, Kyouya lay wide awake. The heavy drapes rendered the room pitch black, and there was no sound audible from anywhere in the house, giving no possible explanation for why he couldn’t sleep. Sighing, he pushed aside the sheets and sat up. Once he knew he couldn’t sleep, there was no sense trying - he’d lay there wondering how many hours he could sleep before it was time to get up, if only he could fall asleep in the next five minutes. But of course the wondering and the working out would only make him feel more awake. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, rose, and fumbled his way to the window, seeing no need for his glasses in the darkness. Eventually he found a rich velvet curtain, and pulled it aside.

Outside, the moonlight made ghosts of the trees in the distance. There was something to be said for being the only one awake in the middle of the night, he’d always felt. Being the only one to see the world in such stillness made it feel special somehow, and he wondered if perhaps that was what Tamaki had meant, being able to enjoy a thing simply because it was beautiful. He remembered the moment with perfect clarity; Tamaki standing behind him, his hands still gripping Kyouya’s arms gently, his breath on Kyouya’s ear as he spoke. He smiled softly to himself for a moment, then stopped, eyes widening. _Really, Kyouya?_ He leaned his head against the window, the glass cool against his skin, and sighed, annoyed with himself.

_Oh no._

*****


	4. Chapter 4

They’d begun working the following morning in Tamaki’s room, but when Shima-san rapped on the door and announced that the staff were ready to clean in there, they were politely but decidedly turned out and asked to find somewhere else in the house to work. 

Kyouya kept his notebook open as they walked down the stairs and down one of the long hallways. He tried his best to keep up with Tamaki’s incessant chatter as they went, hoping his notes would be legible when they finally reached the study.

“Please, Kyouya,” Tamaki whined, somewhere by his left elbow, “get your nose out of the book and listen to what I’m telling you.”

He said nothing, just kept on writing. Tamaki’s response was to snatch the book from his hands and dangle it just out of reach. Kyouya took a deep breath, insisting to himself that he would not be drawn into one of Tamaki’s childish games.

“It’s like you never let go of this notebook, Kyouya. What’s in it, anyhow?”

Self-control be damned; he lunged, trying to grab the book. But Tamaki was too quick. With a chuckle, he was off down the hallway, the notebook held high above his head. Kyouya had no choice but to run after him. He’d almost caught up when they rounded a corner and - 

\- And came to a grinding halt in front of Tamaki’s father.

“Tamaki!” The Chairman was standing in the doorway to one of the many rooms, his mouth set into a tight frown.

“Father,” Tamaki mumbled. “I didn’t know you’d be here today. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.” He dropped his arms, and quickly handed the book back to Kyouya. At this, the Chairman glanced over as if only just noticing that his son wasn’t alone. 

“Tamaki, please go ask Shima-san to set an extra place for me at lunch.”

“Yes, father.” Kyouya had no time to marvel at the sudden change in Tamaki, as the other boy quickly scurried away, leaving Kyouya pinned under the Chairman’s icy stare.

“Ootori Kyouya,” he said slowly, clasping his hands behind his back.

“My apologies, Mr Chairman.” Kyouya bowed. When he stood upright again, he found he couldn’t meet the Chairman’s gaze. His embarrassment at being caught in a childish game of chase burned fiercely, and he knew his face had flushed red.

“I would never have expected you, of all people, to be running around in my house.” Kyouya bowed his head again, and sought desperately for another meaningful apology. “I’ll bet you were never allowed to run in your own home, were you?”

Eyes still on the ground, Kyouya found his face creasing into confusion.

The Chairman leaned his face close to Kyouya’s.

“Were you having fun?”

When Kyouya could finally look at him, there was a tiny but unmistakable hint of a smile on his face.

“Suoh-san?”

“Come in here a moment, Kyouya.” Without waiting for a response, the Chairman turned back into the room he had been in, and Kyouya had no choice but to follow. It turned out to be the study they’d planned to work in, one wall lined with books, one hung with framed pictures. Tamaki’s father gestured for Kyouya to sit in a plush leather armchair, while he himself leaned against the large wooden desk that dominated the room.

“My son tells me the two of you plan to start a club when you move up to the high school. Is that so?”

“Yes, Suoh-san. A working club. Potentially quite a profitable one, if my latest analysis - “

“It’s a host club, isn’t it?”

Kyouya, mouth open, merely nodded. The chairman sighed.

“Wanting to make people happy isn’t necessarily a bad thing in business,” he continued. “In fact, it’s something a lot of people I’ve known have overlooked. But Tamaki needs to learn that there’s more to it than that, if he‘s going to be successful”

He looked pointedly at Kyouya.

“I understand, Suoh,san.” At least, Kyouya hoped he did.

“I assume you know that Tamaki asked my permission for the Hitachin twins to join, even though they won’t start at the high school for another year.”

“That’s correct.”

“Did he tell you why he chose them, out of all the other students, Kyouya?”

“No, sir.” 

“You assumed he was simply on the lookout for impressive names to add to your group? Perhaps that he was making useful connections for his future?” Kyouya could only nod. “I should have known better when I asked him. He told me,” and here, the Chairman actually chuckled, “that he thought they looked lonely. Can you believe that?”

Kyouya looked at the Chairman, at the smile on his face, and pictured Tamaki’s smile.

“Yes. I can believe that.”

He saw the brief surprise on the Chairman’s face, before it slipped away.

“I hope your club prospers, Kyouya.” Chairman Suoh stood, and Kyouya followed suit. “Now go find my son, and make sure he’s not getting under Shima-san’s feet.” And Kyouya was shooed out of the room.

He found Tamaki outside the kitchen. As the young master of the house, he shouldn’t have been anywhere near there, but Kyouya got the feeling that the staff of the Suoh second estate were used to Tamaki’s whims by now.

“Kyouya, look at this!” 

He made a show of rolling his eyes before asking, “What now, Tamaki?” But he didn’t protest when Tamaki dashed over and linked his arm with Kyouya’s, dragging him to the kitchen to show him whatever it was in there that had got him so excited.

*****


	5. Chapter 5

When Kyouya thought about it, entertaining guests at the Host Club wasn’t really that different from any other business transaction. The customers expected to be given thirty minutes of pleasant conversation and light refreshments, and if he provided that, the club would in return receive a repeat booking. If he found a way to exceed a guest’s expectations, then the rewards increased; the guest would encourage her friends to visit, and a host could entertain two or three customers at once, increasing the club’s efficiency. If he found innovative ways to entertain the guests beyond their allotted time with him, such as creating merchandise or auctioning objects, then he not only established a brand identity for the business but also generated actual income, adding to the budget the school provided for the club’s basic operation.

He only ever made one attempt at explaining the process to Tamaki. Kyouya knew that Tamaki was fully capable of understanding the charts and spreadsheet he used to track the club’s income, expenditure and projections, so he found it frustrating that Tamaki barely glanced at them with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Tamaki,” he growled, as the other boy sipped tea, lounging elegantly on one of the club room’s sofas, “if you do actually want to take over the Suoh business one day, then you’ll be expected to know how to put together a financial report.”

“My father owns hotels,” Tamaki countered, sounding for all the world like he was the mature one and Kyouya was the bothersome child. “He’s in the business of making people happy. I already know how to do that.” Kyouya was about to point out that Chairman Suoh was responsible for so much more than that, when Tamaki leaned over and pointed to one of his charts. “Seventy percent of our customers have requested my company at least once since we opened for business, and over eighty percent of _those_ customers have placed repeat bookings for me. The twins only have a forty percent repeat-customer rate, and yours is thirty-four percent. The numbers don’t lie, Kyouya.”

He didn’t have to look at the charts to know that Tamaki was correct; infuriatingly, maddeningly correct.

Kyouya had soon noticed that most of his customers were the first-timers, either seeing him as a knowledgeable starting point to the protocols of the host club experience, or because they were simply too shy at first to ask outright for Tamaki’s company. He didn’t mind; it afforded him ample time to work on club administration or, as was more often the case lately, to observe the other hosts.

Clearly the twins treated the whole thing as an ongoing game, sniggering to themselves afterwards about how easily duped the girls were by their play-acting. Hani-senpai, he realised, just genuinely adored being fawned over by motherly girls who wanted to give him sweets and gifts to see his face light up with glee. Mori-senpai, he suspected, didn’t particularly care for the attention, but seemed content to see his cousin happy, and since his mature good looks and quiet politeness brought in customers too, Kyouya saw no need to alter the status quo.

But Tamaki was the fascinating one to watch. At first, he had felt a bewildering prickle of jealousy, seeing Tamaki clutch the hand of some flustered second-year girl and whisper that her eyes shone like stars. Over time, however, he realised that there was something methodical about Tamaki’s approach to entertaining girls. Sure, he could come up with a million different compliments, but that just took a flair for language. Sometimes Kyouya made a game of it, ticking off items on a mental checklist each time Tamaki sat with a customer. Charming smile. Poetic compliment. Holding her hand in his. Check, check and check. From time to time, Tamaki would add an extra flourish; he might dip his head and look up at a girl from under his overly-long hair, or gently caress her cheek with the back of his hand, but nothing more. The girls asked most of the questions, and Kyouya soon realised that Tamaki never gave too much of himself to any one girl. This came as a surprise at first; Tamaki could easily have charmed a girl with his stories about growing up in France, or even by uncovering the grand piano in the corner of the music room and playing something, anything. 

Again, Kyouya only suggested the piano once. When Tamaki told him, “I don’t play for just anyone,” he never brought it up again; just filed away that little piece of knowledge for later analysis.

No, Tamaki’s approach to hosting was artful and impressive, but ultimately so…’safe’ was the best word Kyouya could apply. Hikaru and Kaoru could be positively scandalous at times with their show of forbidden brotherly love, their hints about the games they played with each other at home, and Hani-senpai thought nothing of letting girls feed him mouthfuls of cake from their own forks, but when subjected to Kyouya’s analytical scrutiny, Tamaki’s romantic affectations were sanitised, innocent, and safe.

So Kyouya found that the odd pangs which had confused him during the first few weeks of hosting soon abated. Tamaki said every girl was special, which for Kyouya meant that no girl was special. If none of them stood apart from the rest in Tamaki’s eyes, then none of them truly held any significance for Tamaki, or Kyouya. They were all clients; each compliment was merely a part of the transaction.

Why any of this mattered had given Kyouya some trouble, to begin with. Until recently, he had always known with absolute certainty what lay in his future: university education funded by his father, most likely in economics, a safe position with the Ootori Group, most likely in the accounting department, and an arranged marriage, most likely to a pleasant but unchallenging daughter of someone his father did business with. But just as Tamaki had brought a thrilling sense of uncertainty to his future career, so too had he managed to dissolve Kyouya’s faith in his image of his future spouse. The idea of some as-yet faceless, demure young thing standing by his side as he took another step on the path so well trodden by his brothers before him actually began to fill him with some distant sense of dread. If he was to have a companion, someone by his side and in his home, why couldn’t it be someone of his own choosing? Someone who challenged him, who pushed him to try new things, someone who…

 

…Who would take his arm and drag him to look at something that caught their attention because they simply had to share it with Kyouya. Someone who would call him in the morning, before he’d even made it down to breakfast, to tell him about some ridiculous thing they had to try at Host Club that afternoon. Someone who showed their appreciation for some small favour by taking him in a fierce hug, so tight that Kyouya could barely breathe.

Kyouya cursed himself for it, for being so foolish as to fall for Tamaki. He hated the way he could get so distracted in the middle of solving an equation by the sight of Tamaki, across the classroom, running a hand through his perfectly-tousled hair. He hated himself for feeling smug at the knowledge that, as soon as classes were over, Tamaki would always wait as he methodically packed his bag, checked his phone and said goodbye to his classmates, before they walked side-by-side to the third music room. And he hated how much it meant to him that Tamaki never shied from showering Kyouya with hugs and countless affectionate casual touches that, somehow, he never seemed to spare for any of the other hosts.

Of course, Kyouya knew better than to expect anything more than Tamaki’s friendship. He would never be so foolish as to pine for Tamaki, to wish and fantasise and wonder ‘what if’. Still, there was something unexpectedly delightful about harbouring unrequited feelings for someone. It was something uniquely his, a perfect little secret that fizzed away in the dark recesses of his heart, constantly keeping him attuned to Tamaki’s every movement, so that he noticed things that he was certain no one else did. And he knew better than to even think about letting anyone know. So Kyouya returned every hug with a shove, until Tamaki backed off. Every touch to his elbow went uncommented on. And every “Look at this, Kyouya!” was met with a roll of his eyes, a sigh, and the reassurance, deep down inside, that not a single person would ever know how much he enjoyed it all.


	6. Chapter 6

On the morning of his first day of second year, Kyouya somehow managed to arrive at breakfast before his father. Akito was already at the table, reading the morning paper and not particularly willing to engage in conversation. Kyouya sipped his coffee in pensive silence, trying to work out what his father would have to say to him that particular morning.

There was always something on these landmark mornings; first day of high school, first morning of school vacations, even birthdays. Always something designed to sound like casual conversation, but carefully crafted to remind Kyouya that every moment of Ootori time was vital, every single minute had to be spent wisely if he was to impress his father and establish a name for himself within the Ootori group.

What actually came, when his father was on to his second coffee, still managed to catch him off his guard.

“What did you achieve last year, Kyouya?”

He was not prepared for that angle. Kyouya looked down at his plate and thought back over the past few months. ‘Top of his class’ was nothing special now, he knew, but what else had he achieved last year? Immediately he found his thoughts wandering to the Host Club: to the financial reports he updated daily; the charts which showed how carefully he had manipulated club dues and auction income and ticket sales from special events; the way he had somehow turned a crazy idea into a business which could actually turn a profit.

It was like finally solving a troublesome equation, as a wonderful sense of balance and enlightenment spread through him.

Finally, Kyouya looked up at his father and answered, “Much more than I ever expected to.”

Ootori Yoshio paused, cup halfway to his lips, and raised an eyebrow. Kyouya turned his attention back to his breakfast and said no more about it.

*****

That afternoon, in the third music room, he talked the others through his financial projections for the upcoming year, and through the club’s plans for various events and cosplay ideas. He sat at a table, laptop open to display a series of charts and spreadsheets, with the others gathered around him. When he reached his final estimations for income, and Hani-senpai and the twins cooed over just how much they stood to earn, Tamaki laid a hand on Kyouya’s shoulder. It stayed there, as Tamaki congratulated him on his hard work, and as the twins asked questions about costume suppliers, and as Kyouya reminded them all of the importance of drawing in custom from the new first-year students. His voice seemed on auto-pilot as he focused instead on the warmth of Tamaki’s hand, and on the way his fingers squeezed from time to time when Kyouya said something that pleased him, and Kyouya thought to himself, ‘so much more than I ever expected’.

*****

“You spent the weekend with the members of your school club, am I right?” Ootori Yoshio had found himself with an unexpectedly free evening, and had opted to spend it having a proper meal with his wife and youngest son. Throughout the first course, Kyouya’s phone had been buzzing intermittently in his trouser pocket; the boy had so far not taken the device out, but the noise was still proving a distraction, so Yoshio had demanded that he hand it to one of the maids, who took it out of the dining room. He had watched Kyouya’s eyes repeatedly flicking towards the door, as though he could still hear it, so was determined to bring his son’s attention back to the table.

“Yes, father. At the Tropical Aqua Garden. I wrote up some notes on the venue’s facilities, if you’re interested.” 

Yoshio nodded, but did not pursue that particular topic.

“The Hitachin boys have been members of your club for a year now, even though they only started high school this year.” Kyouya confirmed that yes, that was the case. “Explain to me what use an allegiance with a fashion house could be to the Ootori group, Kyouya.”

He did not miss the flicker of irritation that crossed his son’s face, albeit briefly. Yoshio held back a sigh; teenagers could choose the strangest things to be obstinate about.

“Contact with the Hitachin house is more likely to benefit the Suoh empire. Inviting the Hitachins to join the club was Tamaki’s idea, and he went to a lot of trouble to convince them. If it’s important to him, then it’s useful to me - to us - if I assist him in the venture.”

Yoshio considered his answer for a moment, then nodded again.

“Fair point.” He poured himself a glass of water from a jug that sat on the table, before continuing. “You also mentioned another name, one I’m not familiar with. Fujioka. Should I know the boy’s father.”

At that, Kyouya actually smiled, as if there was some joke Yoshio wasn’t in on.

“Fujioka Haruhi is an honour student. I wouldn’t expect you to know her father.”

At that, Yoshio stopped mid-mouthful. This was the first time Kyouya had mentioned a girl being part of his social circle. _Interesting…_

“An honour student?”

“Yes. She owes the club a debt, and is repaying it by working for us.” Once more, Kyouya’s eyes darted to the door. Yoshio wondered if it would be worth checking the itemised bill for his phone, to see just who might be trying to contact the boy so insistently.

“She attends Ouran Academy on a scholarship, and she owes the club money. And yet you took her with you on your weekend break.”

“She’s a member of the club as much as anyone else is. The debt aside, she works just as hard as the rest of us.”

“So there is some benefit to having her as a member of your club, besides repaying this debt?”

Kyouya paused for a moment, considering the question.

“It could be useful to get to know someone from a less privileged background,” Kyouya answered. “We could learn about the buying habits of those who work in lower paid jobs. Their experiences of accessing particular services and commodities.” At this, Kyouya looked pointedly at his father, and Yoshio acquiesced. 

“Tell me one more thing, Kyouya. Just how does your club pay for these little field trips? Club dues, even a year’s worth, wouldn’t cover a day at the Tropical Aqua Gardens.”

Kyouya sat back in his chair, his plate emptied, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“Ticket sales from our most recent event were high enough to cover the costs. May I please be excused, father? I have some work to do to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting.”

Yoshio glanced at his wife, who had been following the conversation with just a hint of a frown on her face. Finally he nodded at Kyouya, who managed to restrain his haste as he left the room, no doubt to retrieve his phone. When he was gone, Yoshio allowed himself a sigh and sipped his drink. He knew his son’s grades were still consistent, and this business venture of his seemed to be successful, but there was something about Kyouya’s manner lately that had him worried. There was…something almost smug about him, at times, as if he knew something Yoshio didn’t. He might be a teenager, but Ootori sons did not rebel and insult their parents like common teenagers. He hoped that he might find the time, soon, to talk more with Kyouya, to see if he could get to the bottom of this change in his attitude, before it started to get out of hand.

*****


	7. Chapter 7

The Suoh boy’s voice was the first thing Yoshio heard upon entering his home. He looked up from unbuttoning his coat just in time to see the two boys disappear upstairs in the direction of Kyouya’s room, Tamaki positively dancing around Kyouya, arms gesturing wildly as he spoke. Yoshio watched them until they were out of sight, then handed his coat to the maid who waited patiently by the door. He took one slow breath; he’d been looking forward to getting home, enjoying a peaceful meal and trying to unwind after one hell of a day. That would have to wait a while.

“I’ll take supper in my study in thirty minutes,” he told the maid. She nodded her understanding before slipping away to hang up his coat. Yoshio took one more breath before making his way up the staircase.

The door to Kyouya’s room was open just a crack, but he was sure he’d still be able to hear Tamaki even if it had been locked and bolted.

“The carriage will arrive first thing on Thursday morning! I know that’s cutting it fine, but it still gives us half a day to practise before the parade.”

The Suoh boy was pacing around the room, only occasionally stepping into Yoshio’s line of sight as he watched through the crack in the door - Yoshio scowled at his son’s lack of foresight in leaving the door open at all. Kyouya himself was sitting on the couch, notebook in hand, looking despondent as he tried to keep up with Tamaki’s ramblings.

“Oh, and Haruhi’s costume is ready! We should call her in tomorrow for a fitting. I can’t wait to see her in that dress, Kyouya! You know, I‘m almost sad this is only our second year - I can‘t think how we‘re going to top ourselves at next year‘s Cultural Festival!”

“Tamaki, please. One thing at a time.”

Yoshio saw the frustration on his son’s face and recalled Suoh-san’s words three years ago…he’s a little impulsive…it would do him good to have a responsible, hard-working role-model… And here they were, after all this time, and the Suoh boy was not the slightest bit tamed by Kyouya’s supposed good influence. Instead, his son seemed to be pandering to Tamaki’s impetuousness, and Yoshio wondered what on earth kept Kyouya so attached to the boy. He took little comfort in the thought that Kyouya would hopefully learn something valuable from allowing himself to be distracted by social trivialities - 

\- And then there it was. Tamaki paused in his latest trip around the room and stepped immediately to the couch. As Yoshio watched, Tamaki took Kyouya’s notebook from his unresisting hands and tossed it on to the table.

“I’m sorry, okaasan!” Yoshio inhaled sharply, eyes widening. “I know there’s a lot to do, and it means so much to me that you’re helping to make this happen.”

Standing behind the couch, Tamaki rested his hands on Kyouya’s shoulders - no, began rubbing Kyouya’s shoulders, and Kyoua leaned back into the touch. He removed his glasses and held them loosely in one hand, eyes closing.

“We’ve had a long day, and tomorrow will be even busier,” Tamaki murmered. “We should take a break. Should we have something to eat?” Kyouya mumbled an agreement. “No one can say I don’t take care of okaasan.”

“Thank you, otousan.”

Yoshio turned and walked sharply back towards his study.

This, on top of everything else?

A few minutes later, seated at his desk, Yoshio glared at his diary, at the overcrowded schedule showing his every movement for the following week. There was simply no room, no time to deal with yet another problem.

His supper was brought, right on time, and served in silence. When he was alone once more, he took a mouthful of food and chewed slowly, willing his attention to focus on his schedule, on much more pressing problems. On meetings with accountants, on press conferences, on the arrival of Monsieur Tonnerre and his entourage. Still, his son’s soft voice echoed in his ears, thank you, otousan, and he found his appetite swiftly slipping away. Yoshio pushed the plate aside and studied his schedule. Grand Tonnerre…Suoh Tamaki…Grand Tonnerre…and an idea began to emerge.

He looked at his watch, did a quick mental calculation of time differences, then picked up the telephone. Some moments later, he was eventually connected to the correct line, and was greeted in oddly accented English.

“Monsieur Tonnerre. I’ve had a thought about our meeting this week…You mentioned that your daughter would be accompanying you on this visit? I happen to know of an event she may find entertaining, and thought perhaps she could attend while you and I have lunch…Well, my son’s school is holding its annual Cultural Fair…Yes, it is a little unorthodox, but it will give me a chance to introduce you to Suoh Yuzuru…yes, that Suoh. His son is a classmate of my son’s….and around the same age as Mademoiselle Éclair, now that I think about it…I’m glad we understand each other…I look forward to our meeting.”

When he finally hung up the telephone, he felt his appetite returning after all, and pulled his plate back, pushing the diary aside. He would call Suoh-san in the morning. No, he would call the mother. She would no doubt be more open to his suggestion.

In the solitude of his study, Yoshio permitted himself a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Yoshio and his staff some time to reach the central salon where his son’s club had installed themselves. Partly because he had to stop to speak to a number of parents who crossed his path along the way, but also in part because it took him some time to take in the fact that the club his son had been so vague about was in fact the damned _Host Club_ that so many excitable female students were gushing about to their mothers.

He gave the young boy who greeted him nothing more than a cursory nod before moving quickly to a table in a corner, instructing his staff to call M. Tonnerre and inform him that Yoshio would join him at the restaurant in half an hour. Just last night, he had actually considered calling off the meeting, after hearing the full details of Grand Tonnerre’s offer. Insulted by their estimation of Ootori Medical Supplies’ worth and wondering if a second chance would be sufficient bait for Kyouya to extricate himself from the Suoh boy’s grip, he had thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to change his plans. But as he watched the members of the Host Club fluttering about the room, serving drinks and chattering so frivolously, his anger simply strengthened his initial resolve.

Kyouya, he noticed, had removed himself to the far side of the room, ostensibly to work at his laptop, but Yoshio could see that he was in fact observing the other hosts discretely. It pained him to see his youngest son’s potential being wasted on such a ridiculous enterprise.

Yoshio picked up a pamphlet that had been laying on the table and used it to hide his gaze as he followed his son’s subtle movements. At a nearby table, twin boys enthused loudly over a dress worn by one of the female customers. Elsewhere, the eldest Haninozuka boy, wearing the same outlandish outfit as his son and the twins, served refreshments. Yoshio wondered briefly if Haninozuka-san was aware of his son’s involvement with the club also. It was too late to wish that he had bothered to investigate his son’s activities sooner. Instead, he told himself that he was pursuing the right course of action now. Grand Tonnerre would purchase Ootori Medical Supplies, the Suoh boy would with any luck be betrothed to Mademoiselle Éclair, and Kyouya would have his final year at Ouran to earn his father’s forgiveness. 

He noticed with no little concern that Kyouya had stopped his observation of the room at large and had instead fixed his gaze on the Suoh boy. Tamaki was conversing loudly with a small group of parents, entirely unaware of Kyouya’s attention focused on him. Yoshio noted the smile on his son’s face, and suppressed a shudder at the memory of his son’s voice… _thank you, otousan_.

A familiar voice caught his ear, and he glanced around to see Chairman Suoh enter the room. Yoshio held the pamphlet a little higher to cover more of his face. The Chairman nodded greetings to several parents before engaging one of the hosts, the small boy who’d welcomed Yoshio at the door, in quiet conversation. Tamaki wandered over, apparently disregarding manners entirely to eavesdrop and then interrupt. Yoshio watched the three of them, realising belatedly that the boy currently looking so bewildered by Chairman Suoh was actually not a boy after all, and must therefore be the Fujioka girl. Quite a convincing charade, he mused, making a mental note to find out more about the girl later, when he had time, before turning his attention back to his son.

His hand gripped the carved wooden arm of the chair tightly as, across the room, Kyouya chuckled to himself at whatever the Suoh boy was saying to his father. Resting on the arm of an antique chair, Kyouya made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching Tamaki, and Yoshio saw in his mind’s eye Kyouya’s blissful face from the night before, as Tamaki had massaged his shoulders… _No one can say I don’t take care of okaasan…_

Suddenly unable to watch any longer, Yoshio stood and strode across the room towards his son. This was not acceptable.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days after M. Tonnerre and his daughter had left the country, empty-handed, Yoshio found he finally had time to catch his breath, catch up on news from the rest of his company, and even stay home long enough that morning to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at home. He joined his wife in the dining room, and they discussed their plans for the day over coffee before she left for her own office.

Yoshio was halfway through his second cup when Kyouya entered the room. He noted Kyouya’s practised air of unconcern, and his refusal to meet his father’s eyes, and smiled to himself at such childish arrogance. Today was definitely the right day for the conversation he had planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he announced as Kyouya seated himself and accepted a cup of coffee from the silent maid, “that the events of the past few days have made one thing clear.” Kyouya busied himself with applying butter to a warm bread roll. “Your future is evidently not going to be what I had envisaged.” Kyouya pulled off a chunk of bread and chewed it, then washed it down with a sip of coffee, before finally looking back at him, his face expressionless. “I recall your brothers at your age. Quite a difference. They were content to follow my directions. Clearly, Kyouya, you are capable of steering your own course.”

At this, Kyouya’s eyes widened just briefly, before he hid his surprise by turning his attention back to his breakfast. Yoshio sipped his own coffee, seeing no need to rush the conversation.

“Of course, your bothers were older than you are now when we first discussed their marriages.” At this, Kyouya’s hands fumbled with his cup, and it rattled against the saucer before he steadied himself to take a long drink. “You must understand, Kyouya, that I have no intention of rushing anything with regards to this matter. Rather, when one sees an opportunity, one must not let it slip away.”

“And which rich man’s daughter is in danger of slipping away?” Kyouya took another bite of his roll, indicating that he had nothing further to say just yet. Yoshio carefully did not roll his eyes at his son’s impudent tone of voice.

“The past few days have shown me, among other things, that your life is going to be very different to those of your brothers’,” Yoshio explained, refusing to let his son drag the conversation off his intended course. “And so I suspect you would benefit from a different type of match to those of your brothers’. And since it seems that there is someone who might suit, well…We would be foolish to let such a prospect elude us.”

Kyouya drained his coffee cup and gestured for the maid to refill it.

“Father, would you care to explain your point simply rather than edging around it like this?”

Yoshio lifted his cup to his lips to cover his small sigh of irritation.

“Fujioka Haruhi,” he declared, and waited a moment for the look of incredulity to pass from his son’s face.

“Haruhi.” Kyouya used a napkin to wipe traces of butter from his fingers. “You are proposing Haruhi as a potential match.” Yoshio gestured to the maid, who refilled his cup, giving no indication that she had heard any of their conversation. “And how exactly does Haruhi benefit the Ootori Group?”

Suddenly weary of his son’s insolence, Yoshio permitted himself a sigh.

“Believe it or not, Kyouya, sometimes I do take personal benefit into consideration too.”

Kyoya pushed his plate aside, set his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, making a show of giving his father his full attention.

“I observed your little club,” Yoshio continued. “I watched you and the other boys. And the time you’ve spent with the Suoh boy has not slipped my notice either.” He poured cream into his coffee from a delicate porcelain jug which had sat by his cup. “And I am given to understand that most of your classmates are under the impression that Fujioka is also a boy. Tell me, Kyouya - when it eventually comes to light that Fujioka is in actual fact a young woman, do you think she will change her style of dress, or her general behaviour?”

He kept his gaze fixed on Kyouya, demanding a response.

“She’s made her distaste for the girls’ uniform clear,” Kyouya answered, slowly, “and her father has implied that she’s never been particularly…” He faltered, and Yoshio saw the understanding dawning on his face. Kyouya swallowed audibly, looked around the room, then down at his hands. Briefly, Yoshio wondered if he had made a mistake. Then Kyouya abruptly pushed his chair back and stood, pausing a moment before moving to the doorway. Finally, he looked back at this father, eyes searching for something, just for a second, before Kyouya turned and left the room. Yoshio waited until he could no longer hear Kyouya’s footsteps, then sighed and picked up his coffee cup. The rest of the conversation could wait for another day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly did not expect it to take so long to finish this thing. But real life has a way of interrupting.

Instead of retreating to his room, Kyouya made for the front door. Tachibana, hovering in the hallway, snapped to attention as soon as he spotted the youngest Ootori.

“The car,” Kyouya demanded. He patted his pockets, double-checking that he had his phone and wallet, before striding outside. Within seconds, Hotta was pulling the car around, braking sharply and sending gravel spitting out from under the tyres. Tachibana opened the door and Kyouya climbed in, snapping the door closed himself and giving Tachibana no choice but to sit up front, leaving him alone in the back.

After a moment, Hotta lowered the privacy screen just enough to ask him where he wished to go. Kyouya thought briefly about telling him simply to drive, destination of no consequence. But he chose instead to accept the inevitable.

“Suoh second estate,” he snapped. Hotta nodded and raised the screen again. The car pulled forward, and Kyouya felt like finally he could breathe again.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped out a brief message to Tamaki; seconds later, the reply confirmed that Tamaki was indeed at home and would expect him shortly.

For the rest of the journey, Kyouya closed his eyes, dropped his head back against the seat and tried to think about anything but the conversation with his father. Of course, it was useless; his father’s words played over and over in his mind. I watched you and the other boys…you would benefit from a different type of match to your brothers…your time with the Suoh boy…

His father knew. The one thing he thought was his, that he’d thought safe from everyone else, and his father of all people had been the one to discover it. Kyouya felt his face flush and his throat tighten. All weekend, he’d braced himself for his father’s anger and resentment at the buy-out, and instead his father had somehow managed to pierce through to the one thing that could hurt him.

He barely noticed the car pulling to a stop. When Tachibana opened the door, the sudden rush of fresh outdoor air surprised him, and he snapped his eyes open, taking a few seconds to get his bearings. Tachibana waited wordlessly until Kyouya climbed out of the car.

“I’ll call when I need to be picked up,” Kyouya told him without meeting his eyes. Tachibana nodded and was about to step away when Kyouya added, “It might not be today.” Tachibana raised his eyebrows for a moment, then nodded again. Kyouya was already several steps away when the engine growled back into life and the car pulled away.

Tamaki was indeed waiting for him, sitting halfway up the stone steps that led to the mansion’s main entrance. Kyouya caught his eye and wanted to smile, wanted to launch himself at Tamaki, wanted to turn and walk away so he’d never have to speak to Tamaki again. So many conflicting needs, and he hated not being able figure out what he really wanted. He settled for stopping several paces from the steps, hands shoved in his pockets, and waited for Tamaki to stand and walk over to meet him. The uncertainty on Tamaki’s face was clear, and Kyouya was grateful at least that he wasn’t being subjected to a barrage of questions.

“That bad, huh?” Tamaki mustered a smile of commiseration, and somehow Kyouya managed to return it.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Tamaki looked back at the house, then gestured along the side of the house.

“It’s a nice day. Should we take a walk?”

Kyouya simply fell into step beside him as he set off.

“Was your father angry?” Tamaki bumped his elbow against Kyouya’s as they walked side by side. His voice was soft, careful, and Kyouya wondered briefly why Tamaki couldn’t be this empathetic when it came to Haruhi.

He thought for a moment, trying to work out how best to answer.

“My father is terrified that he isn’t in control of something concerning the Ootori Group, and he’s desperately trying to claw back some sense of power.” Kyouya saw Tamaki’s surprised reaction at the cryptic answer, and he attempted to clarify. “At breakfast this morning, you wouldn’t have believed that the Ootori CEO was sitting with the person who bought out Ootori Medical Supplies and prevented a hostile take-over by a foreign investor. For him, it was a family breakfast with an unruly child.” He snorted with unexpected laughter. “He wanted to talk about my future. He made it sound like my success was an Ootori Group success. No, not even that. His success. He might as well have stuck the financial paperwork on the refrigerator with a gold star on the bottom.”

Evidently unsure what to say, Tamaki settled for bumping his shoulder against Kyouya’s. For his part, Kyouya appreciated his friend’s quiet company, both for its rarity and for allowing him to sound off at his own pace. He still wasn’t sure just how much of the breakfast conversation he could share with Tamaki just yet.

They walked in silence until they reached the lawn at the rear of the mansion. Kyouya glanced upwards, trying to work out which of the windows high above was the one in Tamaki’s bedroom. There was a terrace here, overlooking the lawn and the grounds beyond, but he ignored it and moved to sit on the low wall that skirted the edge of the lawn. Tamaki sat beside him, close enough that his arm brushed against Kyouya’s. Eventually, Tamaki found his voice.

“Has he said anything about who he might name as his successor?”

Kyouya inhaled slowly, taking a moment to note the scent of spring flowers from the neatly tended beds around the terrace.

“No. That would be handing over his sense of control, and he doesn’t want to do that yet. He wants to remind me that I’m still his son. And whether I’m third or first in line, it’s the ‘son’ part that matters.”

“Oh?”

“He wants me to think that he still has some right to make my decisions for me.”

Tamaki made a worried noise. Kyouya still had his hands buried deep in his pockets, and one hand fidgeted with his phone.

“He’s not going to take you out of Ouran, is he?” Tamaki asked. Hearing the tremor in his friend’s voice, Kyouya raised a ghost of a smile.

“Nothing like that.” He took a deep breath, deciding he might as well tell someone. After all, who else could he tell? “He wanted to talk about marriage.”

“Marriage? What, your marriage?” Kyouya nodded. “But…” He heard the arguments Tamaki couldn’t voice, knew that Tamaki was reminding himself that he too had just escaped an arranged engagement. “Did he have someone in mind?”

Kyouya turned and looked him in the eye. He needed to see Tamaki’s reaction.

“Haruhi.” 

It was almost funny to watch a dozen different emotions cross Tamaki’s face in the space of a few seconds. Tamaki spluttered and seethed and flushed with embarrassment, before Kyouya cut off the torrent that was about to spout from his lips.

“Rest assured, it isn’t going to happen. I have no romantic interest in Haruhi, and no desire to inflict the Ootori family on her either.”

“But why wouldn’t you want Haruhi?” Tamaki demanded, clearly missing the point. “Any family should be honoured to have such a lovely and precious jewel such as she added to their - “

“Save it, Romeo.” Kyouya nudged his knee against Tamaki’s. “Haruhi isn’t here so she doesn’t need you to defend her. And there’s no one else around but me, and I already know how you feel about her.”

He was impressed that Tamaki was able to reign in his anger and awkwardness. They sat in silence for a brief while, watching the distant trees swaying in the spring breeze. Kyouya waited for Tamaki’s inevitable next question.

“Why does your father want you to marry Haruhi?”

Kyouya steeled himself. Direct and simple was probably the way to go.

“Because Haruhi masquerades as a boy.”

“What?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tamaki’s face creased with puzzlement. “Your father thinks you like girls who look like boys?”

Kyouya breathed in, slowly. It had to be said. No turning back now.

“My father thinks I like boys.”

There. It was done. Nothing much to do now but see how things played out.

He found himself counting Tamaki’s breaths as he waited for a response. One…two…three…

“Do you?”

And Kyouya found himself stumped. What, when it came down to it, was the honest answer to that question?

“Probably more than I like girls,” he ventured. “I can’t honestly say I have any romantic interest in girls. But then…” He sought for a truth that wouldn’t reveal too much. “But then, my whole life, I‘ve only ever felt attraction to one person.” And suddenly it was all there, building at the back of his throat, all the feelings he’d never been able to share, the concepts he’d never had chance to explain, all lining themselves up ready to spill out now that he finally had someone willing to hear them. “I’ve experienced…I suppose you could call it a connection to someone. Affection, maybe. But since I always knew nothing would ever come of it, I tried not to let it develop into anything more.”

He decided that was enough for the time being. It was honest without over-sharing, a real answer with nothing incriminating.

But of course, Tamaki had to push.

“For anyone I know?”

Kyouya tried to keep his gaze fixed on the trees beyond the edge of the lawn, the wood that marked the boundary of the second Suoh estate. If he gave no answer, then maybe Tamaki would take his silence for a ‘no’, or at the very least, for an ‘I don’t want to say’. But beside him, Tamaki shifted on the wall to face him, hands clasped loosely in his lap, and he knew that Tamaki would keep looking at him until he had an answer.

“Kyouya, you can tell me. I’d hate to think of you pining away for some tragic love, giving up hope without ever trying!” And only Tamaki could say something so ridiculous and romantic and mean every word of it, with a sincerity that made Kyouya’s heart hurt to feel it directed at him. Feeling braver than he ever had, even more than when he’d faced his father down over breakfast just an hour ago, Kyouya too turned to look Tamaki in the eye. He took his hands from his pockets and mirrored Tamaki’s pose, fingers laced together, hands resting on his lap. He watched as Tamaki waited for an answer, and then as Tamaki figured out what he couldn’t say.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Kyouya echoed. Tamaki looked down at his own hands, fingers twisting awkwardly. Kyouya turned his gaze back to the trees. “I wasn’t ‘pining away for some tragic love’. I’ll get over it.”

“So you still…”

Kyouya nodded.

Beside him, Tamaki placed both hands on the wall and leaned back, tilting his face up to catch some of the spring sunshine.

“Well, I guess with a face like mine, it was only a matter of - “

Kyouya raised one hand and shoved Tamaki lightly; Tamaki chuckled, and after a second Kyouya joined in.

“I’m sorry,” Kyouya told him, wanting desperately to believe that nothing had changed. After all, Tamaki was still sitting beside him, hadn’t looked at him with disgust or walked away.

“I’m sorry too.” Tamaki ducked his head, then give Kyouya a sidelong look, hair dropping over his eyes. “I mean, you know I don’t…”

“I know.”

And that seemed to be it. They sat in companionable silence, and Kyouya tried to focus on the feel of the sun on his face, the breeze ruffling his hair, and not the heat from Tamaki’s arm, barely an inch from his own. It would be foolish to dwell on the what ifs and if onlys, he knew, so instead he focused on memorising every detail of now. Of this singular moment where Tamaki knew but still sat next to him, close enough to touch, if Kyouya were foolish enough to try. It would end soon enough, so best to take what he could get while he had the chance.

“You want to go somewhere today?” Tamaki asked, breaking their silence too soon.

“Trying to take my mind off things?”

“Well, we could sit here all day, but personally I find the wall a little uncomfortable.” Kyouya could hear the smile in Tamaki’s voice, and with a sigh, he got to his feet. Tamaki followed, and they headed up the terrace steps and into the house.

In the end, they called up Hani-senpai and Mori-senpai, and whiled away a couple of hours at a gallery not far from the Haninozuka estate, before taking a long lunch at one of Hani’s many ‘favourite’ restaurants. Over dessert, he listened to Hani and Mori’s plans for after graduation, and Tamaki questioned Hani about ideas for summer vacation. As they were leaving the restaurant, Tamaki’s phone rang, and they found themselves invited to the Hitachin house for an afternoon of video games and movies. Kyouya appreciated the attempts at distraction, even though they never quelled the constant sensation of detachment and the nagging feeling that he was only delaying some inevitable and terrible fall-out. Strangest of all was the realisation that Tamaki never stepped more than a couple of feet away from his side the whole day. Every so often, if Kyouya found himself losing track of the talk around him, he would look up to see Tamaki watching him. Each time, he would give Tamaki a nod or a hint of smile, and Tamaki would smile back before jumping straight back into the conversation as if his attention had never left it. Kyouya found it oddly reassuring; if Tamaki had asked out loud if he was okay, he’d have gotten irritated immediately, but instead the discreet ‘checking in’ managed to make him smile and make his heart hurt at the same time.

Only once did anyone mention Haruhi; Kyouya felt something inside him twist uncomfortably as he watched Tamaki’s face soften into a wonderful smile, before Tamaki seemed to catch himself and deftly steered the conversation away to something trivial. Kyouya sent his friend a brief look of gratitude before quickly turning his head, trying to ignore the tightening in his throat and the sting in his eyes that signalled an unwanted display of wretched emotion. How long had it been since it was just the six of them, without Haruhi to fuss over?

It was almost nine o’clock when they returned to the Suoh second estate. Shima-san greeted them upon their arrival and told Tamaki that, since it was too late for dinner, they could simply help themselves to the contents of the refrigerator if they needed anything to eat, since she and most of the other staff were about to retire for the night. Tamaki thanked her and bid her goodnight before leading Kyouya in the direction of the kitchen.

They made up plates of left-overs and ate standing up, Kyouya letting Tamaki chatter aimlessly while he nodded and interjected only sporadically. Eventually even Tamaki began to run out of steam, however, and the two of them made their way up the stairs.

When they reached the door to the guest room next to Tamaki’s bedroom, they paused. Kyouya knew there would be a fresh set of nightwear set out for him in what they had long referred to as ‘his’ room. It occurred to him, belatedly, that not once in all the times he had slept over at the Suoh house had he slept in Tamaki’s room. He wondered if, perhaps in another universe, that might have been their norm; if Tamaki’s house were some tiny commoner apartment instead, with no guest rooms. If he might have had a futon next to Tamaki’s, or if they might top-and-tail in a regular bed, sharing space out of necessity as much as out of friendship. It would never happen now, he reasoned, and perhaps that might be for the best.

For the first time that day, Kyouya felt a sense of unease between the two of them, and he knew that once he closed the door on Tamaki, things would change. Tamaki would have Haruhi, they would date, and hold hands, and would inevitably drift away from the rest of the Host Club members, and Kyouya would wish his friends all the best and try to ignore the hurt behind his smile. Looking at Tamaki, Kyouya could tell his friend felt it too. It hung there, unsaid, and Kyouya was a little surprised by the sudden sadness in Tamaki’s eyes. He was caught off-guard when Tamaki reached out and pulled him into a hug. Only after a few seconds did he return it, arms tentative around Tamaki’s back, fingers splayed, trying not to hold too tight. He felt Tamaki draw a deep breath before whispering, “You’ll always be my best friend, Kyouya.” Too soon, Tamaki pulled back, his hands on Kyouya’s shoulders. “You know that, right?”

He could only nod, too stunned to speak, but that seemed to be enough. Tamaki gave him a smile and a sigh before turning and walking towards his own room, not looking back. Kyouya waited until Tamaki’s door had closed before slipping into his room. He had worried he might do something ridiculous like weep into his pillow, but as he changed out of his clothes and climbed into bed, he was surprised to feel an odd sense of calm satisfaction.

Tomorrow would be hard, he knew, and the days after that too. But it wouldn’t last. And if he couldn’t face up to the challenge, then he had no business calling himself an Ootori son.


End file.
